


Ride the Lightning

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [15]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathroom smut, F/F, Fingering, Non-Binary Joly, Non-binary character, Oneshot, PWP, Porn with a smattering of plot, Rule 63, university fic, what is it with me and bathrooms?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Full credit for this prompt goes to purple_embroidery:</p><p>It's the first social night of the Queer Rock Society and Head of Committee Enjolras has been told by Deputy Ferre to go and be sociable and introduce herself to the newbies. </p><p>She gets herself into a heated discussion about music with a fresher and somehow they both end up in the bathroom...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride the Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purple_embroidery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_embroidery/gifts).



> I can't think of any warnings off the top of my head, but if anyone wants me to tag anything please let me know.

“It’s going to be fine.”

Combeferre was using her “do not even think of contradicting me” voice as she fixed Enjolras with a particular look. Enjolras continued to chew at her lip, looking around the bar nervously. It was the Freshers Week Meet and Greet, the first event in the social calendar; more than that, it was the first with her in charge of Queer Rock Soc and she desperately wanted it to go well.

The Bun Fight had been quite successful, with plenty of people approaching their table and signing up to the mailing list. All of the flyers had been given out, and Courfeyrac had been working the floor, directing likely looking freshers over to their table where Combeferre had asked them all sorts of apparently open and subtle questions before sending them on their way with a reminder about the Meet and Greet that evening in the Student Union bar.

Enjolras would have been jealous of Combeferre and Courfeyrac if they weren’t her best friends. Combeferre was just so effortlessly able to deal with these sorts of things. Enjolras had good ideas. She had a head for planning and execution. But Courfeyrac had the people skills and the charm, while Combeferre had the capability of guiding people towards the inevitable.

Combeferre had told her to go for an “approachable” look, so she had spent a good hour rifling through her wardrobe, eventually selecting a pair of black denim shorts, her favourite fishnets and last year’s official QRS t-shirt; the album cover of Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, with “Queer” substituted for here. The design had been Courf’s suggestion and Enjolras hadn’t been entirely convinced at first. But then the first fifty were sold and they started getting requests on the message boards from people who weren’t even students at their university, at which point Enjolras decided that t-shirt design was now Courfeyrac’s official job. 

Combeferre smiled at her approvingly. Already the bar was filling up with excited students, most of them freshers, drawn to the bar with the promise of cheap alcohol and a good time.

“Just relax!” Courf advised, setting a J20 down on the table in front of Enjolras. “Introduce yourself, ask them what their favourite band is and thank them for their support.” Enjolras huffed; Courf made it sound so easy.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like people; she liked plenty of people. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were two whole people whom she liked and who liked her in return, thank you very much. But people were so ridiculously ignorant. They casually dropped homophobic and misogynistic slurs into conversation and used problematic turns of phrase. She preferred to buy her music from independent retailers but refused to shop at any of the local stores after being asked once too often if she was sure her boyfriend didn’t already have that album.

Enjolras frowned at the J2O in front of her. Of course Courfeyrac would buy her the glitter berry. Taking a swig, she cast her eye about the bar, looking for likely candidates for mingling.

Over in the corner, sitting by herself and drinking what looked like Snakebite Black, was a girl wearing a ratty pair of black combat trousers, a pair of Doctor Marten boots that looked as though the girl had been wearing them since the day she was born and a t-shirt for a tour held two years ago for which Enjolras had tried and failed to get tickets. Enjolras swallowed the last of the glitter berry and made her way over to the table.

“Nice t-shirt,” Enjolras complimented. She could say that, right? That was a fairly normal, non-aggressive opening to a conversation. The girl looked up at her through her messy black curls which were shaved on one side, toying with her lip ring.

“Let me guess, you’d be a Master of Puppets fan?”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed.

“Excuse me?”

“If someone was to ask you ‘what’s your favourite Metallica album’, the first thing that would pop into your head would be Black Album but you’d disregard that because everyone says Black Album, with Enter Sandman and Sad But True and it’s just so very uncool to say Black Album. No, you want to show that you’re old school, but you won’t say Ride the Lightning because even though Fade to Black and Call of Ktulu are some of the finest tracks ever written, it’s even more pretentious than saying the Black Album. So you go with Master of Puppets because it’s an icon and the title track has a guitar solo capable of making grown men weep, even though arguably Dream Theatre did a better version of it live, musically, if you’re willing to forgive the vocals, plus Damage Inc. and Battery are guaranteed to get people on their feet. And I imagine the last person who told you that they liked St Anger the best went away with their ears ringing about how they were so wrong they should barely be allowed to live.”

Enjolras stared at the girl for a moment, wondering if she was being serious. She noted how green the girl’s eyes were behind her glasses, that her nails were bitten down, but that the ones on her left hand had been painted a sparkly blue. Around her wrist were several festival wristbands, all old and worn. Enjolras forced her gaze back up to the girl’s face.

“What’s your favourite Metallica album, then?” she enquired, her voice slightly petulant. She didn’t know why but she was annoyed by the speech. Master of Puppets was her favourite Metallica album but it had nothing to do with any of what that girl had just said. And even if Black Album was the first album she thought of there was nothing wrong with liking Black Album, even if it was a bit of a cliché. The girl smirked up at her.

“S&M,” she replied with a grin, taking another sip of her drink.

Now, you see, that shouldn’t count. Because yes, it is an album, but surely it must come under compilation or greatest hits or something like that. Enjolras sat down in the chair opposite the girl without waiting for further invitation, and began to set out in detail just why that choice was cheating.

+

“Oh, it looks like Enjolras has made a friend!” Courfeyrac elbowed Combeferre. Rubbing her ribs quite ruefully, Combeferre looked over to where Enjolras was talking animatedly with a girl Combeferre didn’t recognise. She had a good head for faces and was fairly certain that the stranger had not been at the Bun Fight that afternoon.

Combeferre had been talking to Joly who was in the middle of introducing their partner, Laigle. Joly looked round to see who Courfeyrac was indicating and their face fell.

“Ah, that’s one of my flatmates in my halls,” they said, scrunching up their nose and giving an awkward smile. 

“Grantaire is… unusual,” Laigle chimed in, giving Joly’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Brilliant and lovely and loyal. But unusual.”

“Well, we _are_ all a little queer here,” Courfeyrac quipped. Combeferre groaned, shaking her head at Courf’s terrible joke, before looking back over her shoulder in concern. Grantaire might be unusual but Enjolras could be intense. She didn’t want to get banned from the Student Union again so early in the semester.

+

By and large the Meet and Greet was going well. The turnout was high and Combeferre was certain she had managed to speak to everyone. There was a nice mix of people right across the LGBTQA+ spectrum which she was especially pleased with, as one of their aims was to be completely inclusive. 

Courfeyrac had been wonderful, making people feel at ease, creating conversations, keeping things interesting and positive. They were a nice bunch this year and already Combeferre was putting ideas together for the next Social. Every so often she cast a glance over to the corner where their Head of Committee was still talking to Grantaire. Every so often Enjolras gesticulated wildly and Combeferre would consider going over there to break it up, but then the topic would obviously change and Enjolras would settle back in her seat while the other girl spoke, fiddling with her wristbands or twisting her lip ring.

Right now, they were sitting opposite each other engaged in some sort of volley. Combeferre went over to where Courfeyrac was sitting, just a few feet away. From the table in the corner she could hear random words being shouted out.

“Opeth,”

“A Perfect Circle,”

“Spock’s Beard,”

“Iron Maiden,”

“Joan Jett,”

“Misfits,”

“Pixies,”

“Judas Priest,”

Combeferre stared at them open mouthed as they continued to shout out apparently random band names at each other.

“What are they doing?” she asked Courfeyrac who seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the spectacle in front of them.

“I’ve no idea, but they’ve been like this for the past fifteen minutes.”

Just then, Grantaire said something that neither Courfeyrac nor Combeferre quite heard, but it resulted in Enjolras taking a final swig of her drink, setting it down loudly upon the table before getting to her feet and marching away.

+

Enjolras was seething. She slammed the toilet door, sending freshers scuttling away in all directions. Sitting quietly in her stall, she tried to calm down. This was supposed to be fun. Combeferre wanted her to mingle, instead she had spent her entire evening arguing music with a girl whose name she didn’t even know. A girl with curly hair in which she just wanted to knot her fingers; a girl whose smirk she wanted to kiss right off her face and _this was not helping_.

Having managed to get a grip on herself, Enjolras flushed the toilet and stepped out of the cubical, almost colliding with someone standing right outside.

 _Oh_.

+

Grantaire slammed her head down on the table as the fierce blonde girl marched away. Fuck this, she thought. She always had to fuck it up.

She had only come to the Student Union because Joly and Laigle had insisted, and who was she to refuse Joly anything? She was nobody and Joly was sweet and so of course she had come along, on the promise of cheap alcohol and the possibility of good music. And it had actually not been too bad at all. Joly and Laigle seemed happy enough which was actually really important because she knew this was the first time Joly had tried to be theirself in public and the smile on their face, even though they clutched tightly to Laigle’s hand, was entirely worth it. All the same, Grantaire just wanted to go back to her room, stick on some loud music and pretend she didn’t exist.

Then, out of nowhere, this… this _girl_ had just plonked herself down as though it was the most normal thing in the world. This vision of beauty and fuck, was she for real? People like that didn’t look at Grantaire. Not ever. Yet well over an hour had passed and they’d just talked, no, argued about complete shit and it had been wonderful. With each passing moment the other girl had become fiercer, more passionate, more involved than Grantaire could ever have believed. She longed to draw those flashing blue eyes, the strong pout of her lower lip (she wouldn’t mind doing a lot more to it than that, if she was being totally honest with herself).

But of course it was too good to last. Finally Grantaire had pushed too far, as she always did, and the girl had left. Grantaire hadn’t even known her name.

With a groan, she pulled herself to her feet. Time to retire back to her room; there was a bottle of vodka with her name on it.

But as she went to squeeze past the table where Joly and Laigle were apparently engrossed in conversation, a hand shot out, grasping her by the wrist.

“And where are you going, might I ask?” Joly looked up at her, their eyebrow raised in a challenge, with just a hint of apprehension mixed with disappointment. Grantaire sighed. She was obviously not headed towards the bar as it was in the opposite direction.

“Just, popping to the bathroom,” she lied. “That ok with you?” She tried to look put-out, as though Joly had accused her of something unfairly. They studied her for a moment, head on one side as though trying to riddle her out, before releasing her hand.

“See you in a minute, yeah?” they said softly. Grantaire swallowed before nodding. Now she had no option but to dutifully walk over to where the bathrooms were. She would walk in, splash her face with water, count to ten and then slip out, facing Joly’s wrath in the morning, no doubt.

She entered the bathroom just as the door to the first cubicle opened. Grantaire wasn’t quite quick enough to dodge the person stepping out.

 _Oh. Oh fuck_.

Enjolras watched the shock play across the face of the girl in front of her. Evidently she had no idea Enjolras would be in here. She took a sudden step back, lowering her eyes immediately, trying to make herself as small as possible, the smirk and bravado of before having vanished under the cold strip lighting of the bathroom.

Before Enjolras’s brain caught up with her feet, she was stepping forward into the girl’s personal space, hands reaching forward to cup her face.

“What’s your name?” she breathed, their lips almost painfully close. The girl was frozen in her grip and Enjolras could see herself reflected in clear green eyes.

“R,” she replied, her voice coming out as a squeak. Enjolras curled her lip.

“Any objections to me kissing the ever living fuck out of you?” R merely whimpered as Enjolras closed the space between them.

Enjolras pushed R up against the counter, tugging and pulling at her clothes, seeking out the skin of her waist as she sucked on R’s lip. Then she licked into her mouth, their mutual tongue bars clacking slightly as the kiss deepened. A chill ran up her spine and she couldn’t help but smile against the girl’s lips.

“Is this ok?” she gasped, running her hands over the girl’s hips, slotting her thigh between R’s legs. R groaned in response, leaning forward to reclaim Enjolras’s mouth.

“Fuck, yes please,” R groaned, finally touching Enjolras in response, hands pressing her shoulders, running her fingers down Enjolras’s spine.

Enjolras’s head was foggy. She could taste blackcurrant and cigarettes, and there was a deliciously soft scent on R’s skin. She kissed down the girl’s neck, sucking a mark near her collarbone. She could feel rough hands running over her arse as R pulled them closer together. 

“Touch me,” Enjolras growled, and instantly groaned as R dragged her bitten nails over the skin of her thighs through her fishnets.

“I,” R was trying to say something, her head thrown back and her face flushed. “I – what do you want? Fuck, I want you but I don’t even know you and you’re like this fantastic amazing godlike creature and you just pounced me and _please don’t stop_ –“

Grantaire threw her head back. She wasn’t entirely sure how she had come to be in this position but she wasn’t about to argue. He body was absolutely singing. She would do just about anything right now.

“R,” Enjolras pulled away a little, but not too far, still between R’s legs. She kissed her deeply then, before pulling back once more. 

She took R’s hand away from where it was resting in the middle of her arse and brought it between her own legs, squeezing her thighs together. 

“Fuck, girl,” R swore, eyes going wide as Enjolras ground against her hand. Enjolras wrapped her arms around R’s neck, kissing her possessively. 

“Enjolras,” she purred, licking up the side of Grantaire’s neck, and wasn’t _that_ just about the hottest thing ever. “My name is Enjolras.”

Grantaire felt that if there had ever been a moment in life in which to quip “I’ll be sure to scream that later,” then this was surely that moment. But she just couldn’t bring herself to say anything because her brain had entirely short-circuited at the sensation of her hand squeezed between this girl’s – between _Enjolras’s_ – thighs.

Then Enjolras was pulling them into a cubical, kicking the door shut behind her. She pressed R back up against the door, rolling her hips against her.

R took the initiative, her thumb rubbing at Enjolras through her shorts, making Enjolras wriggle and squirm, a pleasant sensation pooling in her gut.

“Will you finger me, R?” she gasped into R’s ear, her breath hot.

“Strike me dead, yes,” the other girl replied, somewhat breathless. She carefully undid the button of Enjolras’s shorts before dipping below the waistband, pressing between skin and the top of the girl’s fishnets, her clever fingers negotiating Enjolras’s thong out of the way.

Enjolras reversed them, placing herself against the door, before lifting herself up, hooking her legs around R’s waist. Grantaire couldn’t take her eyes off Enjolras’s face, warm and flushed, white teeth teasing that delicious lower lip.

“This ok?” Grantaire whispered, ever so slightly terrified of the answer. She knew how to finger, and fuck, if she said so herself, she was pretty damn good at it. All the same, this was different. She wanted this to be different. Enjolras grinned at her in response.

Enjolras clung to R, arms folded round her neck, as though her life depended on it. R’s other hand found its way under Enjolras’s t-shirt, gently cupping her breast.

“No bra, babe?”

“A symbol of patriarchal oppression dictating how and where my breasts should be presented – _oh fuck_!” Enjolras gasped, eyes screwed shut as R teased at her labia while playfully twisting a nipple between her fingers. R smirked, feeling a strange surge of power.

The blonde threw her head back, letting out a loud moan. She then collapsed forward, sinking her teeth into R’s neck as two fingers found their way inside her.

Enjolras was wet, and the fingers were rough and welcome; she bucked and squirmed, seeking more as they thrust inside her.

“Please, R,” she begged, eyes squeezed shut. Grantaire felt completely drunk on several emotions; awe, wonder, lust, greed, devotion. Unable to refuse Enjolras anything, she added a third finger, fucking her, crooking them just so, while her thumb rubbed circular patterns against her clit.

“Fuck,” Enjolras groaned. “Oh _fuck_!” Enjolras was loud, and Grantaire was vaguely aware of the fact that technically they were in a public setting and probably the whole student union knew there were two girls fucking in the bathroom right now. She should probably care about that, but right now she really didn’t. Let her get chucked out of uni before the semester even started! She would have absolutely no regrets.

“God I want to taste you,” R moaned. “I want to lick you out, suck your clit and make you scream, fuck you with my tongue…”

Enjolras could feel her orgasm approaching as R continued her monologue, her words combined with her hands driving Enjolras towards the inevitable. Enjolras felt her abdominal muscles constricting. Her spine was practically rippling; this was going to be a quick and buzzy orgasm, she could tell. R’s fingers were working her deftly, fucking her roughly to bring her off as quickly as possible, her thumb almost too rough in its actions, but Enjolras desperately wanted to come.

Suddenly it happened. She went rigidly still, fingers clawing into R’s back, her thighs tightening around R's waist. She was lost in the pure pleasure of how everything seemed to flow all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. In the back of her mind she was aware of her embarrassingly loud moan, but she honestly couldn’t give a shit right at that moment, she was just so damn happy to have come.

Silence descended on the bathroom. Grantaire looked at Enjolras with awe, her fingers still inside her, feeling Enjolras shake apart around her. Leaning forward, she kissed her, gentler now, the frenzied moment having passed. This was tender and careful, luxuriating in the softness of Enjolras’s mouth. Gradually, she withdrew her fingers, and then her hand, unconsciously wiping her fingers on her own combats.

Gasping, Enjolras lowered her legs but didn’t lessen her grip. She dropped her head onto R’s shoulder, still breathing hard, feeling completely buzzed. She smiled against the girl’s shoulder as she felt R mouth at her neck, before turning her head to whisper in R’s ear.

“Reckon you can hang on? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Grantaire closed her eyes, a thousand images filling her head at the promise in Enjolras’s voice.

+

“Does anyone know where Enjolras went?” Combeferre looked around the bar in confusion. She thought her friend had gone to the bar, but after twenty minutes that seemed increasingly unlikely. Suddenly she caught a flash of gold as a familiar figure exited the toilets, looking distinctly dishevelled. Tagging along behind her was Grantaire, their hands clasped tightly together as Enjolras dragged the girl towards the exit.

“Well, I say!” Courfeyrac whispered. “Enjolras getting laid during Freshers week. Who’d have thought?”

Combeferre shook her head. Not her, that was for sure.

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to my terrible enabler Sarah for her delicious prompt and for being my beta.
> 
> She also gets full credit for the slightly cracky title.
> 
> Yes, S&M is definitely my favourite Metallica album, and yes it totally does count.


End file.
